Harmattan On Rolling Hill; An Ogbo n'eche Agu Story.

When the sun sets, the Udi rolling hills cast long shadow over the city, a bold, natural reflection of the city’s name. Enugu is one of nature’s finest gift to Nigeria, it took us years to truly discover this hidden treasures, but today, we take immense pride in its beauty, culture and strength. Tourists who visit Enugu say it reminds them of the Caribbean without the sea. Mother nature was intentional in her creation of this city, taking her time to shape every hill, every breeze and every view with careful details. Today she stands twice as tall as the eastern gateway.

Enugu is blessed with lots of values, ranging from it’s people, cultural heritage, historic places, tourist sites, songs, native chants, stories and lots more. It’s topography and geographical positioning is excellent, there-in lies her sugar and spice. I would tailor my tale around this beautiful city on the hilltop.

The city code is O42, and we rep this city like the New yorkers do theirs. I’m a proud Nwata Enugwu (an Enugu boy), born and bred by the banks of Ekulu river. I know this city like the lines on my palm. I’m part of the dust and debris of the streets of coal city; shaped by its struggle, grounded in its rhythms. I come from a relatively middle class family. My father was a truck driver and I was his delivery boy, I knew every nook and cranny of Enugu inner city, from Golf GRA down to Trans Ekulu, Iva Valley, Coal Camp, Achara Layout, and all the way to Abakpa Nike. Sometimes I’d tag along to Ngwo suburb, where I joined spectators to watch endless flow of Okanga mask dance in real time. I and my father Mr Tee as he was fondly called often drove through the park-lane to river-lane and delivered drinks to shops and beer parlors around that neighborhood.

Whenever I was off work , I use to gyrate with my friends around the city with our funfair masquerade for fund-drive. Sometimes, I would be the one embodying the mask on the streets of Trans-Ekulu and GRA commercial area to entertain people and earning a few tip in cash. I was a full fledged area boy and not a beautified kind. We had learn properly from the pioneers coal camp and Obiagu boys on the technical know how of preparing and performing a funfair harmless masquerade. I recalled, the day we visited the ogbete market to purchase our own “ Iga ” masquerade (Mmanwu), we called it “Odaliwu Eje Nga” which loosely translates to “A breaker of the law that never goes to prison.” it was Uwa a boy who recently moved into our neighborhood from 9th miles Ngwo that named our colorful mask.

My house was just a few kilometers from the Ekulu river, while most of my friends lived in Ugbo odogwu and Iva valley. My mother was a civil servant, at the Enugu state Archives. She was a historian, a great bookeeper and a consultant for historic facts. She often visited schools to speak about history. She was like the feminine version of Herbert macaulay; the wizard of christin Hall. An excellent orator, her voices echoed with power whenever she spoke. She was truly a rare find for my father. She could speak literally most of the indigenous dialects in Enugu state. Growing up, Iwas closer to her because I had a deep interest in the history of Enugu state and precolonial Nigeria; what lead to what, and how the dots connected over time. Why we were called the wawa state and people. Often times, I was my mums audience, she will rehearse her presentations with me all night before presenting it to her audience.

One of my favourite leisure spot was at the bank of the Ekulu river. I spent countless hours there with my friend Uzoka, fondly called “Charley Parker”. It was more than just a place; it was where we created memories and watched so many events unfold. We also prepared our funfair masquerades by the river bank, it was often our takeoff point before hitting the street to entertain passerby. It was through my frequent visits to that riverbank that I came to realize the Ekulu River wasn’t just a fast flowing stream. I learned that its source flowed from the Ngwo Hills, and that its original name was “Ekwulu” a revered water deity in Ngwo , but was later modified to “Ekulu” by the colonial masters. Beyond its sacredness, I discovered that the river serves as a natural boundary between two of the prominent host communities in the Enugu metropolitan area.

It was also by that river bank, that I first made my first ₦10,000, a turning point that gave me exposure and slowly pulled my interest away from the small money we made dancing with our masquerade through the streets of Enugu. When I got home that night, I split the money into three places and hide them in between books in my mothers shelves. That whole night I spent time making enquire from my mum about the history of Enugu state. I spent time discovering more about the host communities in general sense, the role they play and sacrifices they make for urban development.

My mum, late Mrs. Veronica Uzo, once told me that across the world, water bodies, are often used as natural boundaries between different countries, states, cities, and towns. She went on to explain that the Asata River also serves as a boundary in another part of the Enugu metropolitan area.

Spending time by the riverbank exposed me to many events, but one of the most striking was frequent clash between youths from the two host communities, a situation often referred to as “Ogbo n’eche Agu clash.” Ogbo n’eche Agu can be classified as a Community’s task-force. it is common in Nigeria, though known by different names in various rigions. Their role is clearly defined: to oversee the development affairs within their community and also enforce the collection and remittance of community development levies. They ensure that Government bodies, corporations, and private individuals enter into agreements favorable to the host community weather in cash or kind. However their approach can sometimes be confrontational, which is why the government often steps in to keep their activities in check.

I’ve witnessed these clashes repeatedly, some of them were among the most heated moments of my life. Yet, there were times when tension gave way to amicable resolutions. From experience, It’s often wiser to seek a mutual understanding with them than to resist, because resistance can backfire. They are known to be persistent and, at times, aggressive, leaving those who challenge them with regrets. Just like Tariq St. Patrick once said, “Taskforce are thugs with a badge.”One fateful day in 2011 the year I turned 15, I was returning from an unsuccessful scavenge around Iva valley when I stumbled upon a group five young guys. They were huddled together, discussing something serious, the air thick with tension and crip notes of cash. I froze, caught in curiosity.

They noticed me staring, and before I could look away, one of them called out. That moment jolted me back to consciousness. I approached nervously. “You dey look us since, you sabi here?” one of them asked. I nodded quickly and said I’m from the area. That was when the sweet talk began, a kind of sharp, persuasive pitch that only streetwise boys could craft. By the time the sun dipped behind the hills, I was heading home with ₦10,000 in my pocket, my first real taste of huge money. It was unexpected, unplanned, and unforgettable.

That money alone wasn’t free, it came with an instant job. I became what they can an “Intel,” a street-level informant with a specific job description: take a stroll around in my leisure time and report any newly discovered construction site. We had a street style agreement with a firm handshake and loud finger spark. I was overwhelmed with excitement as the wad of cash was stuffed into my pocket, thick, warm, and unbelievable. It felt like a dream, the kind that jolts you into reality. That was how I moved from being a delivery boy to becoming a street vigilante. The next day, I spotted two construction sites and alerted them. That earned me ₦31,500 from one and ₦14,7000 from the other. I stood in disbelief, asking myself, “God, is this how my life is about to take a new leap? ” Those moments felt surreal, like I was finally crossing over from scarcity into something more.

One rainy day in july, I spotted a major construction sight across the other side of the Ekulu River, the G.R.A axis. Just as I was about to notify my crew, I noticed a different breed of boys arriving at the scene. They were bigger,older, grave looking, and more intimidating. I kept hearing them shout “Nwata Enugu! /Umu enugwu!” and I quickly realized they weren’t from my crew. For the first time, I saw men among them who looked as old as my father. Eventually I figured out it was the other community, for the first time, I saw men among them who looked as old as my father. I stood at of the street, quietly observing. This group seemed more aggressive than the taskforce I was familiar with. The moment they arrived, they issued an instant stop-work order. Some of the laborers ignored them and continued working. That’s when it escalated. The group attempted to seize work tools, and when few laborers resisted, the enforcers unleashed their fury on them.

The task-force team, consisting of 30 “Ogbo n’eche Agu” entourage. They inquired about the person in charge and requested their community development receipt. The site manager couldn’t provide it, and quickly placed a call to the owner.

In a short while, the owner of the site arrived in a two police convoy, but the taskforce team stood their ground. For the first time, i saw the community taskforce that didn’t flee at the arrival of the police. For close to the two hours nonstop, both parties were locked in a standoff, each determined to assert authority.

Eventually, the house owner gave in. He left briefly and returned minutes later with a cash bag, which he handed to the taskforce leader. They issued him a receipt on the spot. Then, smiles returned to the faces of those present, the tension in the air eased, and it was clear the mood had shifted.

As a non-indigene living along the border of two host communities within the Enugu metropolitan area, I’ve witnessed firsthand the persistent tensions between these two towns. It often felt like living on the fault line of a fragile coexistence, where even minor issues could spark major conflict.

One thing is to read Enugu in documented materials; and another is to experience Enugu in reality. That evening, when I got home, I spent time discussing the incident with my mum. She shared her perspective on the events that unfolded, expressing the view that both communities should find a way to coexist peacefully, without these constant conflicts.

I took it upon myself to gain an in-dept understanding of the coal city, its people and origin. Along the way, i came across books that offered an expository journey into the history, culture and social economic life of Ndi Enugu.

I also came across popular magazines that claimed to trace the history of Enugu state back to coal camp. However, these publications revealed the flaws and general ignorance of their contributors. I wandered why the editor choose to omit significant historical facts, such as the arrival of laborers from Onitsha, led by one Alfred Inoma, and the role of ten chiefs from Udi, along with one chief Alum of Ogui, who submitted to the government a list of crown lands for development of what would become the city of Enugu.

One very day, the community Taskforce team from the east crossed the Ekulu river into the north and collected community development levy. According to the opposing faction, this act was a trespass, and a breach of long-standing resolution between both sides.. The following day, the taskforce from the other community arrived and halted work at the same construction site. The site manager presented the receipt showing the levy had already been paid to the town that came the previous day. However, it became apparent that this second task-force had also issued their own receipt, leading to confusion over authority and rightful jurisdiction.

The new faction that arrived insisted on collecting what they claimed was rightfully theirs, blaming the site owner for failing to properly consult them before making any payment. A series of phone calls were made to the ealier faction, who denied any knowledge of the encroachment or transaction. They claimed it might have been local youths impersonating the community taskforce, acting without official backing.

That was the day I saw young men, full of life, ready to die over less than a million naira. The leader said something that struck me deeply:

“it’s no longer just about the money, it’s aboutcommunal recognition, presence, and relevance in this area.”

After a long and tense deliberation, the unfortunate reality was that the structure’s owner had no choice but to part with more money, paying the taskforce team that had shown up. That was the day I said my goodbye to the intel work. I walked away from that site with a changed mindset, one shaped by the painful truths of identity, power, and survival.

I ’ ve come to understand that every natural feature in this state is treated as an object of documentation. For some, these documented elements become the foundation upon which they build their vision of history. For others, it’s simply about claiming benefits tied to those features, be it land, resources, or recognition.

Development comes with both benefits and consequences. Everyone seems to be playing to their own interests, from the land merchants to the buyers, the intermediaries, and even the Task force teams. Most people chase instant gratification, rarely pausing to consider the long-term impact of these transactions on their communities. That very evening, while sitting in my mother’s mini library, I made a decision: I would study Law at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. My dream was clear, to one day help my state resolve land dispute, address urban encroachment, and foster healthy relationships among government officials and host communities.

The next time I returned to the riverbank : our usual hangout spot, it was a sunny afternoon, almost a year since I’d last been there. I met up with my home boys again and apologized for my long absence. Boys are a lot simpler than girls; it didn’t take long for us to reconnect. But the truth remained, I was a changed young man. I had clearer goals, a sharper sense of purpose, and above all, I wanted more, just like Oliver Twist.